Sod's Law
by Bobbi
Summary: Sequel to 'Impending Doom'. Poor Neville...Snape has decided he's no mere accident-prone boy, but a Dark Wizard hell-bent on taking over the world. But a blissfully unaware Longbottom thwarts him at every turn ...
1. Chapter 1

This is a sequel to Impending Doom. I decided to write it as a sequel rather than as more chapters on the end.

As always, all characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me. Please review!

I glowered around the Great Hall. Teenagers talked and laughed whilst shovelling food down their gullets, no doubt spraying one another with bits of masticated chicken. The buzzing conversations that were poisoning the room were annoying me no end. Why can't they just eat in silence and save their inane chatter for a time when they are well away from me?

Even more irritating, Lupin was sitting directly to my left, having a lively conversation with Flitwick, who was sitting directly to my right. I scowled at Lupin. He either didn't notice or chose to ignore me and continued his ridiculous conversation about the Quidditch Cup. Having failed to provoke a reaction there I turned around and glowered at Flitwick, but stopped abruptly upon realisation that I was in fact glowering right over his head at Hagrid. He met my scowl with a loud, cheerful "Alrigh', Professor?" when he saw me looking his way.

__

No, I'm not, you great oaf, I felt like saying. I refrained, however, and chose not to bother dignifying the idiotic question with an answer. Instead I began viciously attacking a chunk of cauliflower on my plate, imagining with grim pleasure that it was Lupin's head ... then Flitwick's ... Potter ... Longbottom ...

"Of course, for that to happen, Slytherin would have to beat Ravenclaw," Flitwick was saying, "and my team have been training extremely hard this year, so ..." Here he cast me a look that was almost sympathetic. I glared at him but said nothing. I absolutely did not need or want sympathy. If he thought a group of insufferable know-it-alls were going to beat Slytherin, the house of the cunning, he could think again.

Lupin nodded. "Yes, I've seen them training out on the quidditch pitch. It should be an interesting match this weekend."

I considered going to the Headmaster, who was currently engaged in a conversation about lemon drops with Minerva, and suggesting, _again_, that he make it against school policy to talk in the Great Hall. It would certainly make my mealtimes more enjoyable. He had so far refused, however, choosing instead to encourage that sort of foolish buffoonery. I resolved to try again later.

As I sat there, despondently trying to come up with a convincing argument for my case, I tried to cheer myself up by seeing how many students I could terrify. It's a way of keeping myself sane during meals. I award myself 10 points per Gryffindor and Ravenclaw and 5 per Hufflepuff, because they're just too damn easy. If I manage to terrify one into hysterics, I get 15. I smirked as a Hufflepuff first year squealed and tried to hide behind a prefect. 

Everyone needs a hobby.

For a bit more of a challenge, I let my gaze rove over to the Gryffindor table where the first student to catch my eye was none other than Longbottom. I darkened my scowl and curled my upper lip into a sneer. Almost unconsciously, my hand went up to feel the bump on my head that had been sustained just over a week ago due to Longbottom's determination to destroy all who stand in the way of his plan for world domination. His eyes widened and he dropped his fork under the table. _Nice show, Longbottom_, I thought. _Pity it isn't working on me_. Potter, following Longbottom's 'terrified' stare, looked up at me. I raised my eyebrows, daring him to even blink at me wrongly. Wisely, he chose not to look defiant or impertinent in any way, and instead averted his eyes back to his food.

Satisfied, I looked back to Longbottom. _He's planning something_, I thought, as I watched him crawl under the table. I didn't know what he was doing down there under the guise of looking for his fork, but I had the distinct impression that I was going to regret looking at him like that _very_ soon...

I had considered telling Albus about Longbottom's penchant for the dark arts, but decided against it. I'd have to deal with Longbottom myself. The man's far too trusting. Quirrell, Lockhart, Crouch...even Lupin shouldn't be trusted, dark creature that he is.

Said dark creature was now looking at me curiously. "Are you alright, Severus? You're looking very worried about something."

I realised that I was gripping my fork so hard my knuckles were white, and I forced myself to loosen my grip. "Thank you for your _touching_ concern, Lupin, but I assure you I'm fine."

He nodded, though attempting no pretence that he believed me, and went back to his meal.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

"Fizzing Whizbees."

The gargoyle didn't move. I sighed in annoyance. That had been the password yesterday. Mentally, I scrolled through the list of teeth-rotting rubbish that could be purchased at Honeydukes.

"Fudge Flies ... Cockroach Clusters ... Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans ..."

The gargoyle stared stonily up at me. I resisted the urge to kick it.

"Droobles Best Blowing Gum ... Ice Mice ... _Pepper Imps _..."

I was now fairly wound up, but still the bloody gargoyle remained stationary.

"Jelly Slugs! Chocolate Frogs! _Acid Pops_!"

I was now approaching blood-boiling level. The gargoyle, looking extremely smug, didn't move an inch.

"SUGAR BLOODY QUILLS!" I roared, drawing my wand. I wasn't entirely sure what I wanted to do with it; blast the bloody thing to smithereens with the Reductor curse, maybe, but I was saved from having to think of something by an angry voice down the hall.

"Severus!" I groaned inwardly. Minerva was stalking towards me, the look she usually reserved for misbehaving students and Trelawny pasted firmly onto her face.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" she demanded. "Cursing like a sailor in the middle of the hall and threatening Albus' gargoyle!"

I took a calming deep breath. Well, the intended effect was calming, but the end result just antagonised Minerva further, having obviously mistaken it for an exasperated sigh. "I was merely trying to get up to see the Headmaster," I answered, with the air of one talking to an extremely dunderheaded Hufflepuff.

"With your wand?"

I paused. "Yes ..."

"Pumpkin Pasties," she said, casting me a pointed glare, and with what I was sure was a priggish look at me, the gargoyle leapt neatly aside.

I glowered at it and stomped up the stairs. I thumped the door with a fist. Sod the niceties.

"Come in!" said the perpetually cheerful voice of our esteemed Headmaster. I, however, was in no mood for cheerfulness, and, doing my utmost to exude an air of foreboding, I squared my shoulders and banged open the door.

"Headmaster--" I started.

"Ah, Severus!" he said, indicating a chair. "Sit down, sit down. What can I do for you? Lemon drop?"

A painfully bright yellow bag was thrust into my face. "No, thank you," I gritted out, making no attempt to hide my annoyance. I should know better by now, however, than to make it obvious that something (or as is more often the case, some_one_) has annoyed me in Albus' presence. Be it an idiotic student, a blusteringly foolish Ministry official or a maddeningly cheerful Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, he is an adamant believer that _talking_ will make everything better. And until the day comes when I can talk him into expelling Potter, Granger, the entire Weasley family and Longbottom, firing Lupin and turning Black in to the Ministry, I will be a firm believer in precisely the opposite.

"Is this about the talking in the Great Hall at mealtimes again?" he asked, moustache twitching.

The way he says it, you'd think it was funny. I tried and failed to come up with something on the spot that was less _amusing_. "Actually ... yes," I had to grudgingly admit.

"Yes, I did notice that you were looking rather annoyed this evening at dinner," he said with a benign smile. "But maybe if you joined in the conversation, you would find that you have more in common with your fellow professors than you first thought. Poppy is very interested in potions, and you and Remus are the same age--"

"Thank you, but I have no desire even to be in the same _room_ as Lupin, let alone have a conversation with him," I snapped. I generally refrain from snapping at the Headmaster (out of respect, you understand, not tolerance of his insane ideas), but the insinuation that I had things in common with the werewolf infuriated me.

Another benign smile. As I sat there, glowering fiercely, tapping my fingers restlessly on the armrest and grinding my teeth, Albus ever so slowly reached for the bag of lemon drops. Even more slowly, he took one out and popped it into his mouth. He offered me the bag. "Are you sure you won't have one?"

__

Infuriating. "No, thank you," I ground out, barely combating the urge to grab the bag from him and launch it across the room, laughing maniacally when those infernal chunks of yellow, sticky goo hit the wall and spilled everywhere ...

"Well, Severus, I do apologise, but I'm afraid that forbidding conversation at mealtimes would be rather oppressive. Not the atmosphere we're trying to create here, you see."

As I expected. "In that case, Headmaster, I think I'll retire for the night," I said coldly.

"Good night then, Severus," he said with a nod and a smile. Why does he always look so damn _amused_? I stood up and walked dejectedly over to the door, rather like a sullen child but not caring in the slightest. "Oh, Severus?"

I turned round. "Yes?"

"Are you sure you won't have a lemon drop before you go?"

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

In my rooms later that evening I pondered Longbottom. Would he try to attack Potter? Not that that wouldn't be highly entertaining, but I couldn't allow another attack on school grounds. _Or could I_...? 

No. 

Or ...

no. It wouldn't be right.

But then again ... it would have the triple effect of having Longbottom removed from the school, Potter possibly dead (although I wasn't overly optimistic on this point), and proving to that blithering idiot Fudge that the Dark Lord was indeed back. A fairly tempting series of events ...

I groaned and got out of my chair by the fireplace to pour myself a brandy. _No_. Knowing Longbottom and his Divine Favour, he would find a way to make a complete balls-up of killing Potter, but would cripple me instead. Then he'd escape and disappear, and everyone would think that I killed him, I would be sent to Azkaban, and _then_ Longbottom and Voldemort, together a formidable force, would storm Azkaban and it's curtains for me.

It seemed that this was a lose-lose situation for me. Suffer ridicule, torment and eventually death at the hands of Voldemort and probably his most faithful spy and follower, or protect Potter.

Bugger.

It would have to be the latter. I had done it once before, and I could do it again. Then again, last time Quirrell had been the fool I was trying to save Potter from and the man was jelly on legs. No backbone whatsoever. Longbottom, though ... Longbottom was something else altogether.

I knocked back the remainder of my brandy and poured myself another. _You have to do this, Severus_, I told myself. _You are a spy. It's part of the double-agent role you took on all those years ago_. That settled my resolve. I wasn't going to let Potter out of my sight. Or Longbottom.

I groaned again. Whoever it is that's up in the sky favouring Longbottom is having one _hell_ of a laugh at my expense.


	2. Chapter 2

No one here belongs to me, again! Everyone is J. K. Rowling's.

Harry Potter was sitting in the Gryffindor common room with his two best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Harry and Ron were making half-hearted attempts at their potions homework when Ron abruptly slammed his quill down onto the table. "This is impossible! Why does that slimy git have to give us so much bloody homework?"

Harry sighed. "'Cause he's a sadist," he muttered, following Ron's example and putting down his quill. "We have divination homework to do as well."

Ron groaned. "So we do. Who _cares_ which house Venus was in when I was born? I don't, so I dunno why _she_ does."

Harry shrugged. Hermione looked at them rather smugly. "Well, if you had chosen a _useful_ subject like arithmancy, you wouldn't have to bother about ridiculous things like houses and planets."

Ron glowered at her. "No, we'd have to look at number charts and stuff instead. _Whoop-de-do_."

Hermione scowled and went back to her potions homework, muttering about sensible subjects and numbers.

Just then the portrait hole opened and in came Neville Longbottom, looking extremely worried. He walked over to their table. "Have any of you done the potions homework yet? Professor Snape'll kill me if I don't do it but I don't understand!"

Harry looked at him sympathetically. "Don't worry, Neville. We can't do it either."

Neville flopped despondently down onto an empty chair, his face fearful. "But you didn't destroy his classroom and knock him out with your cauldron."

Harry and Ron began sniggering involuntarily. "Nope. You're a legend, Neville, you know that, don't you?" asked Ron, a dreamy look on his face. "It was brilliant ..."

For Harry and Ron, the memory was up there with that of Malfoy the Bouncing Ferret, but Neville just looked even more frightened. Harry took pity. "Right, here's what we'll do. Ron, if you try to work out the star charts, Neville and I will go to the library and see what we can find on the potions homework, then we'll help you finish Divination when we get back."

Ron shrugged. "Okay. Anything to get a break from the properties of unicorn horns."

"See you soon," said Harry, standing up. He and Neville left through the portrait hole.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Another day over, at last. My plans for the evening were to go to my rooms, soak in the bath for a while, then pour a drink, settle down in front of the fire with a book and remain there for the rest of the evening. _Ah_. As far as the average teaching day went, this one had been particularly disaster-free. I hadn't had the fifth years today, so my classroom was, for the moment, in tact and I had not sustained any injuries, serious or otherwise. All in all, a fairly successful day.

As I walked along the corridor, trying to decide between a nice glass of red or a brandy, I heard two voices. Two distinctly familiar and entirely unwelcome voices. Potter and Longbottom. _For the love of Merlin, why?_ From what I could hear, they were talking about _me_. I slowed down and tried to move completely silently, waiting to pounce when I heard something that merited detention. It's a skill I pride myself on. I am able to sneak up behind even the most sharp-eared students and catch them at their acts of insubordination. 

I could hear Potter talking. "He hates _everyone_, Neville, not just you." Not true. I dislike Potter intensely, but I don't _hate_ the boy. I hated his father and I still do hate his Godfather. I don't hate any of the staff, even Lupin (I like him about as much as I like Potter Junior: not much), or any of the students. I just think that the vast majority of them are a useless waste of space, and having to use my expertise in the area of potions to allow the little cretins to blow up my classroom infuriates me. But a man has to make a living.

"He does," Longbottom was whining. "He hates me even more than he hates you!" _Ah, Longbottom_. Until I discovered Longbottom's true identity, he was just sport, really. He was a trembling fool, so completely imbecilic and pathetic. He was just too _easy_. Weak people rattle me. And Longbottom was the definition of weak. But now ... now I do hate him. Following the Dark Lord, foolish enough to believe that he'll be granted power and respect ... pathetic. It's just another way of being weak. And I will stop him.

Which is why I found myself skulking along the corridor behind the pair. I didn't know where they were going, but unfortunately it was only seven o'clock so I couldn't dish out detentions and send them back to their common room. I crept silently along, hiding behind conveniently-placed statues every time it looked as though one of them was going to turn round. Potter did once or twice, a suspicious look on his face, but he didn't see me. I felt like I should have been wearing a long coat and dark glasses, like those people in those awful Muggle films. After a few minutes I found myself in the library.

I hovered in the doorway, waiting for them to find what they were looking for and turn round long enough for me to get past them, further into the library. They blundered about, looking for potions books. _They're over there, you pair of simple-minded fools!_ I felt like shouting. The pair wandered absently through shelves of curses, counter-curses, Transfiguration books, books on magical creatures, Runes, Arithmancy ... taking books out, putting them back ... Just as I was considering hurling one of my shoes at the Potions shelf to draw their attention to it, Potter pointed. "Look! They're over there!"

I considered storming over and taking points from Gryffindor for sheer blind idiocy, but at that moment the two fools turned round and began scanning the shelves, so I took that moment to flit past them and conceal myself behind a particularly full shelf of Charms books. I peered through a gap between two huge tomes, listening for anything in their conversation that sounded like a prelude to an attack on Potter.

The two of them had their backs to me and were fumbling through the rows of books. I scowled. I could see a book on bloody unicorn horns from where I stood. I watched as Longbottom grabbed a footstool and put it on the floor next to Potter. He clambered up and raked through the books above Potter's head. 

I narrowed my eyes. I could see what was going on here. _I see you, Longbottom_, I thought maliciously as he began tugging at a huge book a short distance above the completely oblivious Potter's head. _I've got you, Longbottom_. I was about to make my move, when I was stopped abruptly by a whole host of discouraging scenarios whirling through my head, each more horrific than the last. Longbottom's infernal good fortune would not allow my counter-attack to go smoothly. No, I would have to think of something else, and quickly. Longbottom was still tugging at the enormous volume. Potter was still stupidly blind to the glaringly obvious beginning to an attempted murder that was happening two feet above his head.

I couldn't reveal myself, so what could I do? 

It hit me. _My shoe_. It was so _obvious_, I had thought of it before. I bent down and reluctantly removed one very expensive dragonhide boot, shifted along to the end of the row and aimed. As I took one last step, my socked foot caught onto something on the floor, and the shoe, which had been so carefully aimed at Longbottom, sailed up into the air as I crashed to the ground. I just had time to register Longbottom's toad sitting placidly by my foot and see Potter and Longbottom's shocked stares before something clocked me hard on the head and everything went black.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

"Will he be okay, Professor?"

"Yes, Harry, he will. He'll have a bit of a headache when he wakes up but other than that he'll be fine. Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Well ... Neville and I were going to the library for a book on unicorn horns for our potions homework, and, er, I kept thinking there was someone behind us, but I couldn't see anyone ..."

Voices. Who?

"Yes?"

"So we got to the library and I saw someone sneaking about, but I couldn't get a proper look so I assumed it was Peeves."

"Okay ..."

The voices were becoming a bit clearer, sharpening at the edges. I could vaguely recognise them, but couldn't think who they were.

"We were just looking at the books when Professor Snape appeared at the end of the row of shelves. He, er, was only wearing one shoe, and then he threw the other one up in the air and tripped over Neville's toad."

I opened my eyes and blinked at the sharp light that met me. The two people were nearby. I tried to comprehend what they were talking about.

"Neville's toad, hmm?" asked the adult voice, which sounded suspiciously strained. "And ... er ... what happened then?"

"He got knocked out by his own shoe."

I groaned as I remembered the incident. Why? _Why?_ Unfortunately, my groan attracted the attention of the two voices, and Lupin and Potter appeared at the side of my bed.

"You can go back up to your dormitory now, Harry," said Lupin, smiling.

Harry nodded, and with one uncertain look at me, departed.

"Well, Severus, it seems that you've had quite the adventure," Lupin said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Where's...Headmaster?" I rasped, too sluggish to even glower at him properly.

"He's trying to calm down Neville Longbottom. He ran away in quite a state when he saw you in the library. Harry found me and we got you to the hospital wing."

"Longbottom ... Death Eater ..."

Lupin looked concerned. "Maybe you should get some more rest, Severus. Albus will be in soon, once Neville is speaking coherently again."

He left. I lay awake, glaring at the ceiling. Longbottom had gone too far this time. I was going to the Headmaster.

Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

All characters belong to J.K. Rowling

"I wonder if Professor Snape's okay?" Harry wondered aloud in Herbology the next afternoon.

Ron started sniggering. "I can't believe he got knocked out by his own shoe!" he laughed.

"Well ... it did look pretty sore," said Harry doubtfully, feeling inexplicably concerned for his most hated teacher. Perhaps it was the manic gleam he had in his eyes. He hoped Snape wasn't losing it. It was a frightening thought.

"I think he was trying to kill me," said Neville fearfully. He was sharing a table with Harry, Ron and Hermione where they were attempting to feed a baby Venomous Tentacula without being bitten. As it was unusually dark outside, it was proving difficult.

Ron snorted. "Don't be thick, Neville. He was probably just ... well ... I dunno what he was doing, but whatever it was, he was _not_ trying to kill you. Probably just torture you a bit ..."

"Ron!" scolded Hermione. "He wasn't trying to torture _or_ kill you, Neville."

Ron grinned. "She's right, mate. He might be a slimy git, but he wouldn't do anything that extreme."

"Well, he will now!" Neville fretted, almost losing a finger to the vicious, snarling plant. "He was unconscious for ages!"

"He won't," reassured Harry. "It wasn't your fault." He felt distinctly unsure of his claim, however, thinking of the insane gleam in Snape's eye ...

"He tripped over _Trevor_!" hyperventilated Neville. "He might kill him instead! He's tried before!"

"He _won't_," Hermione said forcefully. "He won't go anywhere near Trevor."

"Can I have a volunteer to take these Mandrake roots up to the hospital wing, please?" Professor Sprout asked the class. "Don't worry - they're only babies so as long as you wear earmuffs you'll be fine. I've put a sound-proofing charm on the crate, too, just in case. Longbottom?"

"Yes Professor," said Neville miserably. He accepted the proffered pink fluffy earmuffs with the air of someone resigning himself to a very stick end and disappeared out into the growing darkness.

"Poor Neville," sighed Hermione as he left. "Do you think he believed me?"

"Nope," said Ron. "We all know he's as good as dead."

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

I gingerly felt the enormous purple goose egg on my forehead, grimacing at the bolt of pain that shot through my head. It looked ridiculous. After glowering at my reflection for a while longer, I decided that I couldn't simply scare it away. I'd have to be patient.

I was having an internal debate over whether or not to go to the Headmaster about Longbottom when Poppy Pomfrey's voice screeched across the room. "Severus! What are you doing out of bed?" She stomped over and began shooing me away.

"Dammit, Poppy, I'm _fine_!" I growled, irritated at the fact that she was treating me like some common..._child_. "Now will you please stop this infernal smothering! I--"

"Concussion is not my idea of fine," snapped Poppy. "Stop being such a difficult patient and get back into bed, or am I going to have to levitate you there?"

Not having my wand on me and resisting the urge to launch myself at her like a bat out of hell, I grudgingly crawled back into bed. I didn't want to have to face further humiliation at the hands of Poppy. I kept my mouth stubbornly shut while she tried to feed me a disgusting-smelling brown spoonful of headache potion. "Open _up_!" she demanded irritably.

I turned my head away obstinately, only to have it forcefully yanked back round, causing my vision to blur for a split second. I groaned.

"You see?" shouted Poppy triumphantly. "You're concussed!"

I was outraged. I was _no such thing_. And having one's head snapped painfully in the opposite direction from the one it wants to go in may well cause temporary blurring of vision, but that doesn't necessarily make one _concussed_. "Only because you--" I broke off abruptly as Poppy took that opportunity to stuff the potion violently down my throat. I sat for a moment, gagging and choking while Poppy surveyed me with a satisfied look on her face. Duped. By a _mediwitch_. Mother would be ashamed.

"You're obviously ill," Poppy said haughtily. "You can barely even swallow ..."

I stared. "What?!" I screeched indignantly. "If you hadn't tried to force the whole _spoon_--"

"I'll have none of your antics, Severus Snape," she interrupted, frowning and wagging an admonitory finger at me. "I remember, even as a boy you were a difficult patient. That time Sirius Black hexed boils all over you, you insisted on trying to heal them yourself. And do you remember what happened?"

She was speaking to me in the same tone of voice she used for misbehaving first-years. I glared at her. "Yes," I snapped, offering no further comment upon the matter. I had no desire whatsoever to relive it.

"You accidentally gave yourself rabbit ears and had to keep them for a week. Now, unless you wish to go through another experience like that, I suggest you accept my help. I'll be back in an hour with some soup for you."

I shot her my most potent Death Glare as she departed, which she chose to ignore. All I wanted to do was go back to my dungeons. I had absolutely no intention of giving myself foolish looking ears, rabbit or otherwise. Especially not cutesy, fluffy, white things, one of which keeps flopping "adorably" over one eye. Bertha Jorkins had regretted her use of that particular adjective, however, when she found that her bed was mysteriously full of spiders one night. I lay back and contemplated my misery, but gave up after a few minutes. I needed to _move_.

Checking Poppy wasn't lurking in the shadows, waiting to apprehend me for the heinous crime of getting up and walking around, I stood up slowly and stretched. I wandered over to the shelf of potions across the room and had a rake about, seeing how far Poppy's competence in the art of potion making had progressed. Not far, by the looks of things_. If she keeps this up she's going to find herself in Azkaban for mass-poisoning_, I thought spitefully.

A knock on the infirmary door grabbed my attention, and I hid in Poppy's office, peering out through the gap between the door and the doorframe. _Longbottom_! No! He had come to finish me off. Panicked, I grabbed the nearest object, some sort of wooden ornament, and prepared to get him before he got me. A direct assault. Kill or be killed. Survival of the fittest and all that. Although, the word 'fit' could scarcely be used to describe me in my current state. Trembling, I crept silently out of the office. Longbottom was wandering around, checking Poppy was gone and carrying a crate of something. _Probably torture devices_. It was now or never. With an enraged shriek I launched the object across the room, watching with satisfaction as it careered towards Longbottom's head. My satisfied expression turned to one of horror, however, when I realised that the object had turned round and was now heading straight at me. He deflected it! I should have--

SMACK! I howled in agony as it clocked me right on the bump on my forehead. My vision blurred again, and I couldn't seem to regain my balance. I could hear Longbottom coming closer, taking slow, deliberate steps. I writhed in agony, stumbling blindly around the room. Suddenly my foot caught onto something on the floor and I overbalanced and fell on top of it. There was a small cracking sound, and all of a sudden a cacophony of shrill, unearthly wails blasted out from the crate and filled the air. The last thing I saw before blacking out was Longbottom standing over me, a dark shadow.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Pain. My forehead was thumping. A sharp, stabbing pain filled my very being. I groaned miserably. _Let me die,_ I thought. I could hear distant noises, each one reverberating through my aching head. "It's okay, Neville." That was a soothing voice. Male.

"I confiscated that from Fred and George Weasley yesterday," said a painfully shrill female voice. "They were causing mayhem. I _told_ Professor Snape to stay in bed. Honestly, imagine being out playing with toys when in that state ..."

"Then what happened, Neville?" The soothing voice again.

"I p-put down the crate of Mandrake roots to check he was okay, but he s-s-sort of ... f-fell over it. Then the sound-proofing charm broke and ... and ... they started c-c-crying, so he got knocked out," said the voice I recognised as that of Longbottom tremulously.

"Ah." _Headmaster_. "Good thing you had your earmuffs on, Neville."

Good thing, indeed. I shifted slightly and cried out at the pain shooting through my head and up my leg.

"Severus!" cried the voice I now knew as being that of Poppy. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've just been run over by a herd of rampaging Hippogriffs," I muttered thickly.

The Headmaster dismissed Longbottom and came over to my bed. "Well, Severus," he said worriedly. "You suffered quite a bump to the head tonight."

A bump to the bump to the head, actually, I felt like saying, but couldn't summon the energy. I settled for a pathetically weak nod instead. Then I looked pointedly at Poppy and she made a hasty departure.

The Headmaster sighed. "Severus, Severus, Severus," he said, shaking his head, concerned showing in his eyes. "Whatever possessed you to throw a boomerang at Neville?"

A what?! Oh ... I felt distressingly idiotic. Albus was watching me patiently. "Ididn'tknowitwasaboomerang," I muttered, annoyed at the Headmaster for the piercing, searching stare he was giving me and annoyed at myself for failing to come up with a less imbecilic answer.

"Obviously, but ... why?"

Why, indeed? "Er ..."

"I think -- and Poppy agrees with me -- that you may be suffering a slight ... confusion ... from the two, well, three now, head injuries you have sustained of late," he said carefully, obviously expecting complete outrage.

He wasn't to be disappointed. "I assure you, Headmaster," I snapped as loudly as the monstrous pain in my head would allow, "that I am feeling quite the contrary. I am _completely_ in my right mind. I know whose fault this is. It's _Longbottom_."

"Now, Severus," said the Headmaster, sounding unusually stern, "Neville was the one who got help."

I snorted. _Self-preservation_. A common trait in a Dark Wizard. They're cowards. Albus continued. "Now, I know that you feel a certain amount of ... animosity towards Neville, especially due to recent mishaps, but he's been very apologetic about it all."

Apologetic that he keeps failing, I thought furiously. He's pulled the wool over the Headmaster's eyes, too!

"Now," Albus patted my shoulder reassuringly. "Just you get plenty of rest. I'll find someone to temporarily take over your classes until you're your old self again."

With that, he left. I lay awake, positively seething. _Longbottom_. Filled with fresh, furious determination, I decided that there would be no more sneaking around, no more head injuries. On my part, anyway. If I had to launch a full-on attack on Longbottom, then I would. _He isn't going to know what's hit him_.

Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

Last chapter, finally! Thanks to all who reviewed the previous ones. Hope you enjoy!

"Albus, I'm getting rather worried about Severus."

Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Yes, Poppy, I must admit I am, too. He's acting most peculiarly."

"Do you think maybe he should ... take some time off?"

The two of them looked over at Severus' bed, where he was asleep. There was an angry, purple goose-egg on his forehead. Curiously, the goose-egg didn't look nearly as angry as the expression on his face. He was scowling furiously and muttering. "I'd suggest it," said Dumbledore, sighing, "but I'm not sure that he'd take too well to the idea."

Poppy shook her head. "How is Mr. Longbottom?"

"Oh, he's fine. Frightened, but I daresay he'll get over it quickly enough. He has, after all, managed admirably these past five years in Severus's class. I considered owling his grandmother but I fear that she will do something ... regrettable ... to Severus."

"Yes," sighed Poppy. "Old Mrs. Longbottom does have rather a quick temper."

"And a heavy handbag," added Dumbledore. "I don't think Severus would appreciate another bump to the head courtesy of the Longbottom family." He drained his teacup and stood up. "I must go. Someone from the Ministry is coming round for the annual inspection. Thank you for the tea, Poppy."

"Quite all right, Headmaster," said Poppy. She cast a quick cleaning charm on the cups and put them away. Checking Severus's temperature, she decided to make some cooling potions for fevers, as she was running low. It was rather a pity, she reflected as she gathered the ingredients, that Severus was in no state to help her. She had never made a very good cooling potion. It was good enough, certainly, but not quite up to Severus's standards.

With a sigh she went into her office. At least he was asleep. He couldn't harm anyone in that state.

In the otherwise empty hospital wing two black eyes opened and scowled dangerously around the room.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

"And I trust student-staff relations are well?" William Thimble, school inspector, asked, taking a sip from his cup of tea. "No major problems with student behaviour?"

Dumbledore thought briefly of his Potions Master and his relentless anti-Neville crusade. It wasn't so much student behaviour as staff behaviour he had cause to worry about. "Yes, the staff treat the students well. Of course, there is a bit of favouritism as far as the Heads of House go, but I daresay it would be pointless to try to stop that ..."

Thimble laughed loudly. "Of course, of course! I remember the Heads looking daggers at each other during Quidditch matches back in my time! Ah, those were the days ... Now, why don't we take a look at these NEWT results ...?"

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

I sat up slowly, the room spinning. Poppy was departing. Good. I was going to find Longbottom and _destroy_ him. Take some time off, indeed. They'd be singing a different song when I had Longbottom bound, disarmed and on his way to Azkaban with an Order of Merlin, First Class to my name. Trying to ignore the feeling of nausea that swam over me whenever I moved, I put my feet to the floor and stood up tentatively. _Dammit_, I thought as the room swayed dangerously again. I looked at the clock. The students would be in the Great Hall just now. I closed my eyes briefly and made my way to the door.

I wandered the corridors aimlessly for a while, hiding behind statues any time anyone walked past. _Where's Longbottom?_

Then, as I turned onto the third-floor corridor, there he was. With Potter. _He's trying to attack Potter again!_ I decided the best course of action would be to remain calm and try to take Longbottom down quickly and quietly. No use in causing a scene. I took a deep breath and prepared to sneak up on them. But my face, uncontrollably, unstoppably, was twisting and moulding into a mask of insane and horrifying fury. My mouth was opening and before I could stop myself a throat-ripping squawk emerged.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Harry and Neville were making their way back to Gryffindor Tower from the Great Hall to get a head-start on their Charms homework, which Neville had been having trouble with, when a noise echoed along the corridor from behind. To his horror, Harry recognised it as the mating cry of the male Manticore, which they had been learning about recently in Care of Magical Creatures. How had one got into the castle? They were _extremely_ vicious at this time of year. 

Harry jumped and whipped round with the reflexes borne of being the youngest Seeker in a century to see instead, to his great surprise, Professor Snape standing a few feet away, a predatory snarl on his face, his hands bunched into fists, and attired in a pair of blue and white striped pyjamas that stopped about half-way down his shins. Harry recognised them as being from the hospital wing. 

Harry was of the opinion that Madam Pomfrey did it on purpose. That wearing those pyjamas, an exercise in abject humiliation, would stop further endangering of health out of the sheer desperation never to have to face the world again.

"YOU!" Snape roared. His shout emerged as a theatrical "_Heeeyooooouuuigh_!" 

Suddenly, Harry found himself dearly wishing to be facing a rabid, snarling, ravening Manticore instead. It was, in his opinion, infinitely preferable to the rabid, snarling, ravening Professor Snape who was currently advancing towards them in a very raptorial manner. Harry didn't like the manic expression on his face. It was the look of a man who had nothing to lose, and was going to take final, bitter revenge ... at any cost ... Dimly, Harry realised that he looked rather like Sirius looked when he saw Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack. But a lot uglier. 

A quick glance over at Neville revealed that he looked as though his knees were going to give way. He grabbed Harry's arm in a painful Death Grip and let out a frightened, barely audible squeak.

"_What_?" demanded Snape. "_What was that, Longbottom_?"

Neville looked as though he wanted to turn tail and run, but couldn't move. Harry was feeling rather the same, but thought it would be safer not to make any sudden movements. He briefly considered getting his wand out, but chose against it, lest he attacked. Snape took another step forward and snarled again. It was a primal, Neanderthal sound. He was closing in ...

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

"Well, Dumbledore," said Thimble jovially. "Everything seems to be running like clockwork, as ever!" He let out a braying laugh. "And now I'd best be on my way. Lots to do, you know!"

"Of course, Mr. Thimble," Dumbledore said, getting up and moving towards his office door. "Thank you for coming."

"Not at all, not at all," Thimble said amiably as they made their way down the stairs. "I always enjoy my inspections here. I must say, this place has a lovely atmosphere. Very homely. Ah," he looked around mistily, "I did enjoy my time as a student here. Many, many moons ago now, though, I can tell you!" He laughed again.

Dumbledore chuckled. "You and me both, Mr. Thimble. You and me both."

Dumbledore's reply was cut off by a resounding wail, which sounded eerily like the notorious Bandon Banshee, echoing along the corridor. The next thing he knew, Neville Longbottom streaked past them in a white-faced, terrified blur.

Thimble looked slightly concerned. "Well," he began. Whatever he was going to say, Dumbledore never found out, though, because Severus Snape, fierce of face, wild of hair and bellowing like an injured Hippogriff, was bolting past them, hot on Neville's heels.

Dumbledore sighed. Maybe Poppy was right.

Thimble attempted a smile. "It's nice to see the staff and students playing together--"

A third voice echoed down the corridor and Harry Potter sprinted past, yelling, "Professor! Wait! Neville!"

"Ah!" said Thimble cheerfully. "There's young Harry Potter! I must say, it's been a while since _I _played chase. It's nice to see the staff on such friendly terms with the students. Who knew old Severus had it in him? It just goes to show, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, eh?"

Dumbledore gave an indulgent smile. "Indeed."

"Although those pyjama bottoms could do with a Lengthening Charm on them ... Well, then, I'd best be off. Another glowing report for Hogwarts! Good day, Dumbledore!" And with that, he sauntered cheerfully down the corridor.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Harry was close to panic. Professor Snape appeared to be closing in on Neville, who was now bounding up the stairs. Harry tried to speed up, but being short as he was, he was having trouble keeping up with Snape's long strides, despite his expertise in the area of Harry Hunting. He was actually rather impressed with Neville's stamina. He was still haring madly ahead of Snape, shrieking in terror and pulling ahead every time it looked like Snape was going to lunge.

Just when Harry was seriously considering taking out his wand and stunning Snape, a door to the right hand side opened. Harry barely had time to realise that a stunning spell wouldn't be necessary when Snape barrelled into it with a loud, painful-sounding _SMACK_! and fell backwards onto the floor.

Professor Lupin peered cautiously round the other side of the door, an alarmed expression on his face as he took in Neville's still-shrieking, rapidly retreating form, the unconscious Potions Master in too-short pyjamas and a pink-faced, thoroughly-exhausted Harry wheezing over to him.

"Harry?" he said, looking at him curiously. "What's ..." He broke off and gestured first to Snape, then to Neville, who had stopped running and was hovering fearfully at the far end of the corridor and gibbering nonsensically.

Harry gave him a weak smile. "Well, er ... Professor Snape ... Neville and I and, er--" He broke off, still gasping for breath.

"Dear me," said a voice from behind. It was Professor Dumbledore. Harry wondered why he wasn't even out of breath when he had taken so short a time to get there. The old Professor must have been sprightlier than he had thought. "What happened?"

"Severus here ran into my office door," said Professor Lupin, looking worriedly down at Snape. "But I'm not sure why he was running around. Wasn't he in the hospital wing?"

"Yes, he was," answered Dumbledore. "He must have left when Madame Pomfrey was elsewhere. Do you know what happened, Harry?"

Harry explained. "And then Professor Lupin opened his office door," he concluded.

"I think," said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully down at Snape through his half-moon glasses, "it is time we brought this business with poor Neville to a close."

Harry looked at him curiously. What did he mean? 

"I didn't want to have to do it this way," said Dumbledore sadly, getting out his wand, "but I have to end it."

Harry's stomach jolted. He wasn't going to ...? He looked beseechingly at Professor Lupin, who smiled reassuringly in return. "It's for the best, Harry," he said.

Harry stared disbelievingly between the two men, who were both staring at Snape with resolute expressions on their faces. He might be a slimy sod but ... they couldn't!

Dumbeldore raised his wand. "I'm sorry it came to this," he said quietly.

"_No_!" shouted Harry. "You can't! It's not his fault! It's because ... because he's a spy! And it's made him think some things about some people that are maybe a bit ... wrong, and ... but ... you can't!"

Dumbledore and Lupin exchanged questioning glances. "Harry, what--"

But Harry was on a roll. "Just because he's a bit weird and really horrible and stuff, doesn't mean--"

"'Dutenshn, Pudr," muttered a thick voice from the floor. "I will nt be spukn 'bout like tha'."

Snape, apparently, had woken. Harry's jaw dropped at the unfairness. "Professor?" he said, dismayed. "I wasn't ..."

But Snape had lapsed into unconsciousness again.

Again, Dumbledore raised his wand.

"Professor," said Harry desperately. "You _can't_! Just because he's tried to kill Neville a few times, doesn't mean it's worked! It's no reason to ... to kill _him_!"

If Harry hadn't known better, he'd have said that Dumbledore looked amused. How could he find this situation _funny_? He shook his head dumbly and attempted to establish outraged eye-contact with Professor Lupin, but let his face sag once again into disbelief when he saw that the corners of Lupin's mouth were twitching.

"Harry," said Dumbledore kindly, and there was no mistaking the amused lilt in his voice this time, "I was simply going to erase the part of his memory that remembers what has been happened with Mr. Longbottom of late. I assume you have heard of the Obliviate spell?"

"Obliviate?" asked Harry dimly.

Dumbledore nodded, smiling. Harry looked in surprise at Lupin. The slight shaking of his shoulders and the fact that his hand was over his mouth belied the serious expression he was trying to adopt.

Harry turned red.

"Oh," he muttered. "Well, I'll just be ... going back to the common room, then."

Harry looked to the end of the corridor, but Neville was long-gone. "Well, er ... goodnight," he said, and began making his way back along the corridor.

"Goodnight, Harry," said Lupin, smiling.

"Oh, and Harry," said Dumbledore.

Harry turned around.

"I'm sure Severus would appreciate it. You don't have to do the detention. Do tell Neville that he is no longer in any immediate danger."

Harry gave him a pained smile, his face still hot enough to fry eggs on. "Yes, sir."

"Goodnight."

THE END


End file.
